Going Ghana, Part 2

I have spent my whole life loving Jesus. And even though there were many scriptures that I tended to skim over (sheep and goats, anyone?) I thought I was doing pretty well in both mine and God’s eyes. But God apparently disagreed. I discovered that he really was serious in all those passages that talk about taking care of the poor and “the least of these.” And all of a sudden I found myself on a new journey with Jesus. It started with the book Interrupted by Jen Hatmaker, and before I knew it I was on a plane to Ghana.

I never expected to fall in love with Africa. Or its people. They are both so beautiful.  But the people of Ghana are poor in so many ways that go beyond anything that I have ever experienced. And yet the people we met were eager to welcome us in. We met under beautiful shade trees with entire villages of people and were always given places of honor.

Life is so very different and complicated in Ghana, especially for someone used to hopping in the car and running to Walmart or Brookshires. The missionaries for Mercy Project do an amazing job all while living in a tiny village far from a real town. And that town is at least a couple of hours away down a quite terrible road. (By the way, if you know a missionary, you should send them lots of love. It is not an easy task.)

On that first morning, as we loaded into a leaky wooden boat to head across the lake to the village of Yegi, I had no idea what was about to happen. I never imagined that my heart was about to be changed by the children there.

The children that we met in Yegi were rescued out of slavery several years ago and are living with their parents again. Mercy Project sends them to school and a Ghanaian social worker continues to check on them and their families to be sure that things are going well.

After our boat landed in Yegi, we hiked up to the village. (You really must ask someone about how Suzanne and I actually got off that boat. Every time.) We went to the school where the children were waiting to meet us. When I say school, please understand that the only thing this school has in common with the schools we are familiar with are a few rickety desks and a chalkboard. It is one room with concrete floors, and doors and windows that can’t be closed. We played games and sang songs with them. We passed out the dresses that you made to girls who were so very excited to get them. We ate a wonderful lunch cooked by the social worker Winifred, and then it was time to go. But before we left, they wanted to sing a song for us. And then Winifred asked them to recite “their” verse. All the children in unison said,

“To him to whom much is given, much is required.” Luke 12:48

These children in a poor village in Ghana have taken this verse as their own. To us, it doesn’t seem that they have been given much of anything. But they don’t see it that way. They have been set free from a life of slavery. They get to go to school. They have been given much. And therefore, much is required of them.

I, too, have been given much. Very much, actually. And if Jesus is to be believed, then much is required of me as well.

It was so wonderful to meet these children, to touch them, to look into their beautiful eyes. But they stepped all over my heart, and I will never be the same.

When we arrived back in Dallas, the customs officer asked me what I was bringing in. I answered souvenirs, and then he asked what else. I said there was nothing, but after I walked away I wished that I had told him I had come back with a changed heart. I can only imagine the look on his face at that. That would have been rather fun, I think.